


Awakening

by MadnessofVoid



Series: Sterek Week 2018 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, Canon Typical Violence, Kidnapping, Mild Blood, Misunderstandings, Other, Protective Derek Hale, Sterek Week 2018, attempted non-con, stiles is something, the bite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 10:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16448342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadnessofVoid/pseuds/MadnessofVoid
Summary: He woke with a musty ass bag covering his head and his wrists bound to a chair. Common knots. Child's play. Swallowing, he gave himself internal pep talks, anything to keep him from panicking. He started to covertly work on the knots. If he was with a quiet abductor, he didn't want them to know that he was trying to escape. Hopefully no one was behind him. That would be just his luck.Instead, he heard the door of wherever he was open, causing him to freeze. He began shaking, now officially scared out of his wits. His kidnapper chuckled at that...and he recognized the sound.Winston William Walters III. That fucking asshole! He knew it it! Oh, he knew it! Wait till he gloated about this to Scott!If he made it out alive...





	Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> So..this was longer than anticipated. Went in a different direction than anticipated. And...just is overall...not what I anticipated. ^^; But hopefully it is a goodie!
> 
> Theme: Alternate Canon
> 
> Small note, I have written Stiles as this particular creature before in a very wicked fic...but alas...I lost it in the Corruption of the Jumpdrive of Early 2018. So I recycled the creature. ^^;

Winston William Walters III. That was the name the visiting alpha gave in a tone that was equally as snooty as his damned name. And the way he held himself was arrogant. Like he was some aristocrat from the frickin' Victorian era. The three piece suit he wore almost every time he met up with the Hale pack certainly didn't help matters.

 

Stiles didn't like him.

 

Something didn't sit right with this guy. And not because of his snobby attitude. No...there was something off about him. Like, he had this wry grin that reminded Stiles of Peter, but like, a thousand of the dude. And his eyes glinted with some sick, malicious _want_. Made Stiles' skin crawl.

 

Thankfully, Stiles wasn't alone in his feelings.

 

Whenever his dad was in the same room with WWW, he eyed the wolf like he would with a suspect in the interrogation room. Kira, who usually like everyone and saw the good in everyone, always kept close to Allison or Stiles whenever WWW was visiting, still as a board and worrying at her lip till he left. Erica and Boyd wouldn't stay in the room for more than five minutes before they would just leave with sour expressions. Allison would be on pins and needles until he left, sometimes her fingers twitching towards one of her many hidden weapons. Isaac would glare until he would mutter something to Lydia, who would also be glaring, and they would leave the room together, which was weird all around.

 

Derek had the most... _strong_ reaction.

 

Out of everyone, Derek had the most shitty life one could ask for. Or at least a huge handful of shitty years. But things were going good for him at last. He got his act together, became a strong alpha other alphas came to for advice, rebuilt the Hale house, expanded his pack, trusted little by little, even started to genuinely smile! And whenever this visiting alpha dropped by...all that progress seemed to be tossed right out the window. He became closed off, tense, scowling champion – the list went on. Yes, his mood lifted when the creep left, but there was always this trace of anxiety hovering over him. Just mentioning the name made Derek nearly snarl.

 

Stiles wanted to ask what was up, why Derek was feeling what he was feeling, compare the notes. But it never seemed like the right time. He lived for seeing Derek grow and improve and be fucking happy for once. So, like an idiot, he never asked.

 

The day he actually _planned_ to get over it and ask...was the day he was kidnapped.

 

He woke with a musty ass bag covering his head and his wrists bound to a chair. Common knots. Child's play. Swallowing, he gave himself internal pep talks, anything to keep him from panicking. He started to covertly work on the knots. If he was with a quiet abductor, he didn't want them to know that he was trying to escape. Hopefully no one was behind him. That would be just his luck.

 

Instead, he heard the door of wherever he was open, causing him to freeze. He began shaking, now officially scared out of his wits. His kidnapper chuckled at that...and he recognized the sound.

 

Winston William Walters III. That fucking asshole! He knew it it! Oh, he _knew_ it! Wait till he gloated about this to Scott!

 

If he made it out alive...

 

Knowing who had him, he straightened, glaring from under the bag. He was still scared, but when has that stopped him from mouthing off when he knew the bad guy? He let out a rather loud scoff and resumed his careful work at the knots.

 

“Seriously, World Wide Web? You kidnapped _me_? _Me_ , of _all_ people? That has got to be the stupidest thing you could have _ever_ done. You do realize my dad is the _sheriff_ , right? He will burn down the world to find me. He also has some Grade A wolfsbane bullets. The extra good shit. Courtesy of the Argents. So, why don't we just, y'know, lemme go, and we can all have a really good laugh about this while your entrails are spread across the floor?”

 

Triple W started at that, clearly not expecting Stiles to be so nonchalant. Probably because he smelled like he was about to piss himself, because he was. Oh, he so was. But why let that show? That wasn't Stiles' style! Nearly getting killed from his big mouth was.

 

Mr. Three Piece got over the shock real quick, his footsteps agonizing to hear approach. “I can see why my gathered intel said you were unpredictable. You truly are a man of surprises.”

 

“So glad you approve.”

 

The alpha chuckled again, getting closer and closer to his captive. Stiles gritted his teeth, clinging to the rope. Once this prick got close enough, he would show just how unpredictable he was. He had lessons from the station, the Argents, some self-defense pros, and Derek – he was going to kick this guy's ass and make it as far as he could. At least to a phone and call someone. _Anyone_. His chances were slim, but he was going to try. He wasn't going to die here if he had any say in it!

 

The prick stopped feet away from Stiles, too far to reach. The smugness oozed off of him. Suffocating. He chuckled for a third time and made shuffling sounds.

 

“Do you know why I took you?”

 

Stiles snorted, rolling his eyes. “No. But I guess this is the cliched part where the big bad super villain reveals his grand plan to his helpless captive, huh?” He heaved a sigh, fingers itching. “So spill it. Can't wait to hear this.”

 

Another chuckle. Guy was full of them, apparently. Stiles heard Triple W take another step closer and tensed. Dammit...still too far.

 

“Well, Mr. Stilinski, it may come as a surprise to you, but I have known the Hale family for many, many years.”

 

Given Derek's reactions towards this jackass, no. No, that wasn't really a surprise. Put some pieces together, though. And it was a safe bet some more were about to be fitted in.

 

“I was fond of Talia Hale. Strong woman. Independent. Fierce. Sadly unattainable. She loved that pitiful human and that filthy omega far too much.”

 

Stiles bit back a sharp retort, beating down the anger he felt for Derek's sake.

 

On one of their late nights doing research about the creature of the week, they got talking. Derek broke from his shell and spoke about his family. Stiles couldn't remember what sparked it or why it was always Stiles he opened up to, but there were no complaints. At least Derek was...talking. The last Hale (Peter no longer counted at this point) told stories about his parents, with a particular sadness when it was about his dad, Miles. Human, loyal to a fault, compassionate, cook...cancer victim. Didn't want the bite, even faced with death. After he died, it took years for Talia to find love again in a woman Derek fondly called Mama Rayen. She was rough around the edges, but she was just as kind and loving as Miles had been.

 

For this guy to call either one of those people Derek had cherished such things...

 

Save the anger for later. Focus on the now. Focus on escaping.

 

“I tried to offer her a real lover. A real, ideal partner to lead the pack. But she always refused. I even offered to take the hands of the child that would inherit her alpha title. Still refused.”

 

Oh god. This guy was a _Class A+_ _creeper_. He wanted into the pack badly enough to ask Talia to marry _Laura_? Yeah, this explained a lot of why Derek was wary and unfriendly.

 

“And now her son is refusing me as well. Such a shame.”

 

No throwing up in the musty bag. No throwing up in the musty bag. No throwing up in the musty bag...

 

“He will have to accept when he finds out that I have his mate under my watchful eye.”

 

Wait...what?

 

“Uhhh...think you are confused here, World Wide Web. Derek and I are not mates. Not even boyfriends. Just friends.”

 

Winston William Walters III barked out a terrifying laugh at that. Made Stiles leap out of his skin.

 

“I do not believe that for one second, Mr. Stilinski. Your bond with the new Alpha Hale is deeper than any of the others in the pack. It is as clear as day.”

 

“I think Boyd, Kira, and Isaac would be rather offended to hear you say that. Especially Isaac. Mmm...actually...Boyd a little more than Isaac.”

 

“ _You_ are his most beloved. You cannot convince me otherwise. And you cannot convince me that he wouldn't do anything within his power to keep you safe.”

 

“Uh, yeah? That's because he is the alpha of the pack I'm in. You could have taken any of us, and Derek would have the same reaction. So, again, taking _me_ of all people was _pretty_ stupid of you.”

 

The laugh that came from the alpha was deep. Dark. Deranged. Stiles flinched at the sound. He heard the ruffle of clothing. Heard it drop to the floor. His blood turned to ice and he felt a lump rise in his throat. No. No no no. This was not happening. This was _not_ happening! The bag was flicked off his head with ease. Honestly, he would rather have it on. Better than seeing this...this _**psycho**_ standing before him shirtless, a sickening smirk deforming his face.

 

“I wonder...will he still want you after being tainted?”

 

A clawed finger stroked his cheek in a mockery of something loving. Slow and farce tender.

 

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Stiles surged forward, revealing that he had broken out of his bonds some time ago. He took advantage of his captor's stunned reaction, first jabbing at the side as hard as he could muster before slamming his palm right up the nose. The howl of pain echoed through his bones as he slipped out of the small space and made a run for it.

 

Unfortunately, a wolf's agility was far superior to a human's. Stiles felt claws go right for his side and dig deep. Warm liquid poured out, certainly not being helped by the panicked adrenaline. He ignored it, simply placing a hand over the wound and kept booking it to freedom. He slammed the door behind him, hoping it would buy him some time. It did, sort of. He had made it halfway up the stairs to wherever he was before he heard the door being reduced to splinters.

 

The yell he made upon hearing it was undignified and he not ashamed to admit to it.

 

He scrambled to the top, heart thudding wildly as he heard the monstrous steps rounding behind him. He slammed the door at the top of the stairs, hoping for a second miracle. It didn't. The door was blown off the hinges within mere seconds, causing yet another yell to rise from his throat. Thinking on his feet, he began to knock over whatever furniture was around, trying to cause some form of blockade between himself and the predator. Get out. He had to get out. Get to the pack. Get to _someone_.

 

His luck ran out. Like it always did.

 

Winston William Walters III had wised up. Cheated, really. Used his supernatural abilities to practically run up the wall and slam down right in front of his prey. Stiles skidded to a halt, losing his breath. Trapped. He was trapped. Dead for sure. He watched in horror as he was slowly being forced to walk backwards. To be cornered. This couldn't be the end. No way this was the end! He was not going to die at the hands of some fifty-whatever asshole with a weird complex he couldn't place! There had to be a way to slip through. Had to be!

 

“Nowhere to run now, boy...” growled Mr. Three Piece, lips curling up in a bone chilling grin. “Derek is going to be so heartbroken when he sees your corpse...”

 

Stiles clenched his teeth together in a make-shift snarl, feeling his eyes burn from sweat grazing them. His advisory gaped in awe. _Stunned_ awe. It was sudden and it lingered. Whatever had caught his attention must've been good, because he stopped advancing. Gave Stiles a split second to calculate if he could actually make it around this guy and bolt for the door.

 

The odds were stacked against him, but when were they not?

 

“Incredible...” triple W breathed. A wicked, excited grin split across his lips right before he licked them hungrily. “The change...it is already starting.

 

The change? Starting? Stiles was a tad confused. His senses still felt the same. His body still felt ready to give out. What in the hell was this creep talking about?

 

No! Focus on the escape. Focus...

 

Desperate, Stiles unleashed a manic cry, and charged. Once more, he caught his captor off guard, giving him the time he needed. He maneuvered around the giant mass, making sure to do a quick kick to the back of the knee before he attempted to make any distance. The alpha howled in shock, stumbling forward in a most ungraceful manner.

 

Good.

 

Time. Time was what Stiles needed.

 

Scrambling as fast as he could, he continued running in the direction he had earlier. He was literally just feet from the front door before the asshole could cheat again! And was that his phone just...sitting there in the keys bowl? And...and was it ringing? Ohhh...thank the powers that be for small miracles.

 

He dove for it, falling straight to the floor and taking the contents of the bowl with him. He fumbled with his phone, not bothering to pay any attention to see who was calling. Blood was smearing across the screen, making it difficult to swipe the phone icon. And World Wide Web was snarling...

 

“Fuck fuck fuck...please! Come on!”

 

Someone somewhere must've liked him, because it was at that very second that the call was answered. He couldn't help it – he let out a deranged laugh.

 

“Stiles?” came Derek's voice on the other end. “Where the hell are you? We have been calling you for hours!”

 

Before he could reply, the other alpha let out a monstrous roar. Shook the entire fucking house! Stiles' voice froze in his throat, despite wanting to answer Derek's frantic demands. And in the blink of an eye, Winston William Walters III was there in front of him...looking...

 

_**Feral**_.

 

He roared again, shooting a hand out and tightening the fingers around Stiles' ankle. Stiles shrieked at the top of his lungs – life flashing before his eyes. Next thing he knew, he was being flung across the room. The air whooshing in his ears silenced everything. Even the sound of wood splintering beneath his body. Even the shouts from Derek. Even the thunderous roars that continued to come from the alpha as he approached his wounded prey.

 

Stiles laid there, cell clutched to his chest, shivering. This was it. He was going to _die_. He was going to die in this place...and no one knew where he was.

 

“-iles?! Stiles?! Where are you!? Who is attacking you?!”

 

Lungs filled with oxygen. Brain activity spiked. Stiles jerked upwards, screaming bloody murder, “FUCKING WORLD WIDE WEB IS TRYING TO KILL ME!”

 

Then...darkness...silence...absolute nothingness...

 

**~+~**

 

Aches. Aches all over. But numb. Sort of. Like something was tampering off but was fading. Huh...what would do that? Wait...wasn't he...dead? How could he be dead if he felt aches? And...were his fingers twitching? Who was muttering?

 

Stiles groaned lowly, tensing faintly. The mutters ceased, almost as if whoever was the cause of it were holding their breath. Things started to form around him. Like the fact that he was clearly in a hospital bed. One does not forget the feel of a hospital bed. And his eyes did not want to open. At. All. Maybe his body would move...

 

“Whoa there, kiddo. I don't think so. You rest.”

 

Somehow, Stiles was able to smile. His dad was here. Good. That'll make this stay more bearable.

 

“Does Stiles know the meaning of rest?”

 

Ah. Derek was here, too. That deadpan snark was identifiable anywhere.

 

Wait...if his dad was here, and Derek was here...who else was in the room that haven't made themselves known?

 

It took a great deal, but he managed it. His eyes cracked open. Snail's pace. He let out an involuntary hiss at the brightness that greeted him. Followed by another small hiss in protest of the sudden jolt of pain from his side.

 

The side that had been clawed...

 

Finally, his eyes opened all the way. Blinked away the bleariness and discomfort from the lights. Focused. Only two faces were seen in the room: his dad and Derek. Okay. Less commotion. That's probably for the best. He did not need any more excitement than what he was likely going to get. His lips cracked into a sleepy grin, crinkling his eyes involuntarily.

 

“Hey...” he rasped.

 

His dad chuckled, sharing a fond smile with Derek. “Hey, kiddo. You scared us for a moment there.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

The sheriff's face scrunched up, gearing up for a scolding. A calm one, but a scolding nonetheless. Ugh. Stiles didn't think he could handle a scolding right now. He was achy and groggy. Plus...there were more pressing matters to be concerned with. Like...how that creep was...was...

 

“What were you thinking?” his father asked in a pinched tone. “Why would you go anywhere with that guy? You said it yourself, 'there is something wrong with him, I don't trust him as far as I can throw him'.”

 

Stiles huffed, wincing shortly after at the pip of pain in his side. “Didn't...not willingly. He kidnapped me on my way to the House.”

 

“He _kidnapped_ you?” Derek said in a near growl.

 

Stiles swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. Dunno where I was. Knocked me out. Bag on my head.” His nose scrunched up in disgust as he thought of that musty bag. “It smelled like sweaty balls. Anyway...he had me tied to a chair, too. Fucking shit at knots, he is. I got out of it easy. But I was a good boy and let him do his 'evil mastermind' speech first.”

 

“You were able to shut up that long?”

 

“Har har. You're a comedian, Derek. Picking on the new beta.”

 

Silence fell. His dad and Derek shared a confused expression. Like they had no clue what he was talking about. Which, in turn, made Stiles just as confused. His eyes went back and forth between them, trying to get a read on them. His mind was too foggy to properly do it, though. Must be on some strong meds, albeit fading ones.

 

It felt like eternity before his bedside companions finally broke their silence and looked at him.

 

“Stiles...you're not a werewolf.” muttered Derek.

 

He raised his brows, not sure if he should feel shocked or relieved. “But...didn't he scratch me deep enough? Pretty sure he may have bitten me during the attack, too. _Had_ to.”

 

“Stiles...” His dad's voice was calm, but the face was showing concern and fear. “You wouldn't still be here if you were a werewolf. You haven't healed. Every injury that man put on you is still there. You...”

 

The words weren't said...but the air and expressions implied it.

 

_You are immune. You aren't turning into a wolf. You're a something. Just like **Lydia**._

 

Stiles swallowed again, eyes as wide as he could make them. He was a something. A mystery creature. That...that was _**more**_ terrifying that if he had just taken the bite and became a goddamn werewolf! Because what if he was something...something bad, like with what happened to Jackson? What if that creeper tried to pull Stiles towards him, like Peter had done to Lydia? Because, as they had all discovered, just because Lydia wasn't turned into a werewolf, it was still Peter that woke her up and he still had power over her in some way because of that damned bite. Like he was her alpha and she was his beta, but not really.

 

Why couldn't he just have turned into a wolf, been trained by Derek, and had help to resist the pull?

 

Why couldn't he just be fucking _normal_?

 

He closed his eyes, secretly wishing that when they would open again that his was all just a dream. Until that miraculously happened, he was going to ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue: “How did you find me?”

 

A chuckle. The sheriff's. Sounded relaxed instead of fearful like his face had been. “Apparently, Derek knew where Mr. Walters III lived, and ran all the way there the minute you said 'World Wide Web' was trying to kill you.”

 

If Stiles had the will in him, he would tease the shit out of Derek. Mr. Grumpy Wolf, ran all the way to where Stiles was. 'You really do care' would be the phrase he would use.

 

Too bad he didn't have the will...

 

“He had disappeared by the time I got there.” grumbled Derek sourly. “I would have gone after him...but you were in bad shape. Lost a lot of blood. You...you...”

 

“You needed a blood transfusion.” the sheriff supplied, cutting Derek mercifully off. “Stitches, too. Gonna need to take it easy for a while. Which...I know will be difficult. Especially with Mr. Walters III is still out there. And before you ask, because I know you will, we have it covered. Deaton, Scott, Boyd, Isaac, and Argent are doing perimeter sweeps almost round the clock. Kira, Allison, Erica, and Lydia are doing their own sweeps within town. My deputies are doing sweeps, as well as taking shifts guarding outside your room. I know, this might not stop the bastard from coming after you, but at least we're trying.”

 

“Why did he even come after you in the first place? You said you let him tell you his plans?”

 

Right. That. Stiles grimaced, head rolling a little. It was too much explaining to do right now, even if it was a pretty simplistic plan. Especially with the ache now switching to a dull but painful throb.

 

Derek must've at least smelled that, because he didn't question any further and suggested that Melissa should come give Stiles another dosage. The sheriff muttered an all too soft agreement.

 

After that, the world went dark again. Except this time, he could hear and feel everything. Like he was hyper aware or something. It was eerie, being in that in-between state. Couldn't control anything. Couldn't say anything. However, it was also...strangely... _calm_. He wasn't expected to do or say anything to anyone. He could just lie there...silently observing.

 

He didn't know how long he was in that state. Hell, he had no idea if he had actually woke up at one point. All he knew was that his dad had to, begrudgingly, leave at times to perform his duties as sheriff, leaving Derek to be his constant companion beside the bed. Some pack members had dropped by, whispering hushed info about how their sweeps had went. Which, apparently, wasn't very good.

 

“ _He and his so-called pack have been made scarce. As if they are waiting for something. Or_ _ **someone**_ _.”_ Deaton had mused on a recent visit. (Or what Stiles thought was a recent visit. Who knows? He lost all concept of time.)

 

“ _Stiles...”_ breathed Derek, something shaky about the way he had said Stiles' name.

 

“ _Perhaps. Winston has always been that... **persistent** type. I wouldn't be surprised if he has already heard that Stiles survived. I also wouldn't be surprised if he is waiting for Stiles to turn, simply thinking that his body is fighting the bite but slowly succumbing to it. It's a rare outcome, but he's more than likely holding onto that hope. Stiles would be a frightening wolf.”_

 

“ _But Stiles **isn't** a wolf.”_

 

“ _I know. And whatever he is...it'll be more or less just as terrifying. Miss Martin awakened her banshee abilities when Peter attacked her. That is already a formidable being to have at your side. Having whatever Stiles could be added onto that...well...your pack is only going to get more attention and more whispers.”_

 

“ _Oh good. More popularity. That's exactly what we need...”_

 

Visits started to blur after that. Everything started to quiet down. His hypersensitivity was dialed down to practically zero. Time stopped. He finally was fully asleep.

 

When he woke up, lucidly woke up, Derek and his dad were there again. So was Melissa. And Scott. They were all talking in hushed tones he couldn't really catch. They also didn't notice that he was awake. Carefully, he sat up in bed, which, yeah, maybe a bad idea since his entire being was basically asking 'what in the hell are you doing', but he had been laying down for god knows how long. He wanted to sit up! The little hiss he made in protest against his body's protest alerted the group to his waking, and he had to stifle a laugh at how hard they all jumped.

 

Scott's face lit up, and he ran up to Stiles' bed. Almost tackled him. Had to pump the breaks and nearly face planted it. Again, Stiles had to hold back laughter.

 

“You're awake! For real this time!”

 

“Sounds like you're implying that I've been awake before.”

 

“Well, the last time you were awake when I was here, you were waxing poetic that Brittany Spears' song If U Seek Amy was a stroke of brilliance because it was obvious from the lyrics If U Seek Amy was clearly F.U.C.K. Me. Then you went on a rant about almonds not being a mammal and having the means of producing milk, so it shouldn't be called almond milk.”

 

Yeah...that sounded like Stiles...

 

The sheriff sat on the edge of his bed, Melissa right behind him. Derek hesitated, almost as if he forgot that he had a place in this circle, too. Eventually, with a shy glance, he made his way over and stood next to Scott with arms folded tight to his chest. It was nice having them all there. Felt normal. For once.

 

“So...what happened while I was out for...uh...how long was I out for?”

 

Melissa chuckled, leaning over to brush some hair out of his face. “You weren't really out. You woke up a few times. You just weren't fully there. We have you on some pretty good stuff. But, to answer your question, you have been 'out' for three days.”

 

“Wha? Only three days? That doesn't sound dramatic.”

 

“It was whenever you were awake.” snorted his dad. “The things Scott told you is only the tip of the iceberg. Believe you once waxed poetic about Derek's eyes.”

 

Derek made a choking sound, which he tried (and failed) to disguise as a cough. Judging by the reaction, Derek was not here to listen to Stiles' opinion on his galaxy, kaleidoscope pair of eyes. Good. Stiles was already in a hospital bed because of a psycho werewolf. He did _not_ need to be in this bed longer suffering from acute and life threatening embarrassment.

 

“And...nothing much happened.” continued the sheriff. “Walters III has been MIA this entire time. No sign of him. No sign of the pack he had talked about. Nothing. It's as if he is waiting.”

 

Waiting...yes. Yes, Stiles remembered hearing that conversation between Derek and Deaton. Waiting. Triple W was waiting. Waiting for _him_. He grimaced, relaxing back into the lumpy pillows. They needed a game plan, and they needed one fast.

 

“You look like you're planning something...” Scott noted with a frown.

 

Stiles snorted at the comment, a tad disappointed in his best bud's frowning ways. “Well yeah. We need one. 'Cuz the minute I'm out of here, the prick is gonna swoop in and fuck shit up. _Guarantee_ it. I wouldn't be surprised if he was waiting for me to walk out right now!”

 

It was Derek's turn, apparently, to snort. “No, no he won't and isn't. Alpha Walters may like attention all on him...but he doesn't like _bad_ attention. He comes in here and makes a scene, it'll be bad attention from the citizens of Beacon Hills. If he causes a fight to get you back, it'll cause bad attention from other packs in the surrounding area. He is like a politician: good publicity is the best, avoid all the bad, pretend the bad doesn't exist, deny the bad, et cetera, et cetera. The fact that he kidnapped you, attacked you, and thinks he may have turned you already is bringing the attention he doesn't want. If anything, he will calmly hunt you down once you're discharged.”

 

“And we're ready for him.” Melissa said sternly.

 

“Yeah! We already contacted Satomi and her pack. They should be in town-town within the hour.” added Scott. “They're providing back-up.”

 

“Deaton's also putting up wards, as well as gathering tools to help figure out what you are as quickly and quietly as possible.” the sheriff supplied. He set his hand on Stiles' shoulder, squeezing tightly, soothingly. “We're doing everything in our power to be a thorn in this asshole's side.”

 

Oh. Huh. Solid plan. An actual... _solid_ plan.

 

They grow up so fast...

 

Stiles felt his entire body relax. To the point that he felt like going for another round of naps. Might as well. When would he get his much sleep ever again? (The answer was _never_ , in case anyone even cared, which he was certain no one did.) He could feel his lips crack into a dopey grin as his eyes fluttered shut, ignoring the little snort that was definitely coming from Mr. Big Bad himself.

 

“Cool. Welp...I'm hitting the hay, since you guys have it all figured out.”

 

“You just woke up!” Scott whined.

 

“Details, details. I also just got my ass handed to me by a wall of psycho alpha. I deserve to sleep until the world ends.”

 

Another snort rose from Derek. Though, somehow, it sounded a tid bit fond. “You'd wake up five minutes before that happened just to panic and save us with some random knowledge you had stored away.”

 

“Oh, god, he would...” muttered Melissa, sounding like she was holding back snicker.

 

Stiles cracked an eye open, scowling. Or, well, _trying_ to scowl. Ish. “I detect some lack of gratitude here. I'll have you know that my random knowledge has saved your ungrateful asses so many times that I have ran out of room on my fingers _and_ toes to use for counting!”

 

He could hear the eye rolls. Literally hear them! But he could also here his father shush him, running fingers through his sweaty mop of hair. Ew. He was going to need to shower once he got out of here. He probably smelled rancid. Poor wolf noses. They must really love him to withstand that. Or maybe he didn't smell? Maybe body order was left in the dust once he started to change into... _something_.

 

“No. You smell pretty bad.” grumbled the wolves in unison.

 

Oh. He was rambling. Aloud. Yeah. He needed to go back to napping. Napping time for the Stiles.

 

“Did he get another dose without us knowing?” his father (poorly) stage whispered.

 

“Not yet.” Melissa shrugged. “He is due for another soon, though. And Scott...I don't care what Erica bribed you with. Put your phone away and stop recording Stiles. He will throttle you when he is more capable.”

 

Stiles was tempted to correct Melissa, explaining how he loved Scott way too much to _actually_ throttle him. Blackmail? Mild threats? Yes. He wasn't above _those_ tactics. But before he actually could say anything, his head drooped back, and the world fizzled out into a dreamless landscape, where the only thing he could feel was his father's hand and the sweat clinging to his backside.

 

**~+~**

 

A week.

 

He was confined to that uncomfortable bed, barely able to walk properly to the bathroom, fighting off a fussy dad and a fussy alpha, and hearing all the humiliating things he said when loopy on pain killers from the pack for a _ **week**_.

 

He almost wished that World Wide Web had dragged him off into the woods and nibbled on his bones. Anything to save him from the torture known as the hospital. And the bill...god...how was his dad going to afford this one? Their insurance was shit. Pretty sure it didn't cover random, wacko, alpha werewolf attacks. Pretty sure he did not see that on the fine print.

 

But...details. Right now, they had more pressing matters to attend to.

 

Like getting Stiles safely to the House without being intercepted.

 

Derek, Scott, Deaton, and the sheriff, for lack of a better term, smuggled him out. In the dead of night. Because that was a great idea. Not like Triple W wouldn't expect that!

 

However...nothing happened. They got Stiles safely into Derek's Camaro, shoving into the backseat some of his belongings they could gather in quiet, and wished him luck in figuring out what he was. His dad promised to call, maybe visit if it was safe. Scott swore that no one was getting in without anyone knowing with the most serious face he could muster. And Deaton set what appeared to be tomes onto Stiles' lap, wishing him luck again.

 

Then, they were off.

 

Silence sat between Stiles and Derek as they headed to the House. It was...weird. They hadn't had something like this between them in some time. Years, actually. Made Stiles want to crawl out of his skin. More than he already wanted. He shifted in his seat, daring to crack open one of the books Deaton dropped onto his lap to a random page. Immediately, he saw a certain word he had heard his babcia use in some sort of proverb.

 

“ _Cicho! Licho nie_ _ś_ _pi!”_ she would say for absolutely no reason like a broken record before she died. It wasn't until he was older that he learned what it meant....

 

“ _ **Quiet! Evil does not sleep!”**_

 

.“I, uh...I don't think you're a Likho.”

 

Stiles startled, shamefully forgetting briefly that he was sitting in Derek's car with, well, Derek. He glanced over at the other male, raising a brow. Didn't look like Derek was peeking at the book. If anything, it would appear that Derek was dutifully keeping them eyes on the road like a good boy. But Stiles knew the tricks. There was a likelihood that Derek had taken a quick glance before he spoke. The dude was talented like that. And it certainly lightened the tight atmosphere in the vehicle. Got Stiles to smirk.

 

“Oh yeah? What do you think I am, then, Mr. Know-It-All?”

 

A crooked grin emerged. “Mr. Know-It-All, huh? You sure you can call me that with a clear conscience? Anyway...there is a probable chance that you're something Slavic. Given that you're, well, Slavic.”

 

“How perceptive of you.”

 

“If we want to follow, say, the path that maybe you're similar to Lydia, the one that comes to the top of my head is a drekavac. Problem with that is there are many depictions of a drekavac that there isn't a clear, solid idea of them. The most common I have heard is that it is a spirit of a sinful man or unbaptized baby.”

 

“Shit. I am _both_ of those things.”

 

That earned him a side-eyed glare.

 

“Another one you could be is a raróg. Though I doubt you're a fiery falcon demon.”

 

“I could be!”

 

“Doubtful.”

 

“Okay then! Tell me what you, you, actually think I could be instead of listing of skeptical options! It's what I asked for anyway!”

 

A pause. Thoughtful. Brows furrowed and mouth curved downward. White knuckles at the wheel for some reason.

 

“Something intuitive.” came the answer at last. “You always call out when you think someone had bad intentions. And you weren't wrong. You predicted all of them.”

 

Stiles licked his lips, fingers twitching. “H-how many supernatural beings are there that are intuitive?”

 

“Not many.”

 

“So...this might take a while?”

 

“You were always a pain in the ass. Why would finding out what you are not be the same?”

 

If Derek wasn't driving, Stiles so would have swatted the back of his head. Hard.

 

**~+~**

 

They arrived at the House in the preserve without a hitch. They slept through the night without a hitch. Everything was quiet. It was far from what was expected, but there is that saying about gift horses and mouths, so Stiles wasn't going to complain.

 

Especially when his not so grumpy host had cooked him breakfast.

 

The smells had slammed into him the very second he had trudged into the entirely too large kitchen, making him question ever so slightly that maybe, just maybe, he was just a late blooming werewolf. He could pick out the distinct scents of waffles, chocolate chips, syrup, powdered sugar, eggs, bacon, sausage, hashbrowns – it was a fucking spread. Like Derek was feeding the pack and not just the two of them. Then again, Derek had a ravenous appetite when he allowed it, and they had no idea what kind of appetite Stiles would have after being released.

 

Gift horses. Mouths. No complaints.

 

Stiles unleashed a monster of a yawn as he hopped up onto the counter to get a better view of Derek cooking. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and kicked his feet faintly. Felt like he was in some romcom. Down to the scowl the alpha gave and the poor attempt to shoo him away.

 

“Looks good.” slurred Stiles a bit.

 

Derek shrugged, slathering bread into a cinnamon smelling liquid.

 

“Oh my goooooooood. Are you making French Toast, too?”

 

“I some detect lack of gratitude here.”

 

“Oh, har har. Throwing my words against me when I'm still half asleep. Classic.”

 

Derek rolled his eyes, pointing at the tiny ass table that did not belong in this over-sized kitchen. “Get off my counter and go read. We need to figure out what your something is so we can properly train you and ward off Alpha Walters. He won't be done with you yet. Heard him howling last night.”

 

The revelation turned Stiles' blood to ice. “You... _what_? _Howling_?”

 

“He was trying to call you. Like how Peter did with Scott. It was distant, so he isn't close enough to be too worried about. But the others didn't find him when they tracked down his howls. And he was howling for a good hour.”

 

“He's...trying to summon me?”

 

“He thinks you're a wolf. Why wouldn't he? Now off my counter.”

 

Normally, Stiles would ignore the demand. He liked sitting on the counter to watch Derek cook. The guy rarely cooked in the first place! It was like watching a royal wedding! But this time, Stiles hopped down, body trembling and bile rising in his throat. That creeper was close enough to where the wolves in the pack heard him howl. He was calling. Trying to get his 'beta' to come. To obey.

 

“Stiles? Hey...you need to sit down.”

 

He felt hands cautiously wrap around his shoulders. They guided him gently to one of the grandma chairs positioned at the table. They assisted him in sitting down. And they remained there until the tremors ceased. He glanced up as the owner of those hands walked back to the stove, resuming the grandiose breakfast that was likely only being made to help brighten his spirits.

 

Well, it was working.

 

There was that saying about a man's heart was in the stomach, after all.

 

Stiles smiled wearily, turning towards the stack of books before him. This was going to be a long, long morning. If Mr. Creeper-In-A-Three-Piece didn't try to fuck things up, first.

 

**~+~**

 

The creeper alpha didn't make an appearance during the morning. Didn't show up in the afternoon, either. By early evening, Stiles was pretty damned sure that this was going to be a peaceful day.

 

A peaceful day full of failures and dead ends.

 

If he were to be honest, it felt like trying to figure out why Lydia kept finding dead bodies all over again. Only this time they were beating the strange behavior to the chase and were trying to discover the truth beforehand. Which was not working. _At all_.

 

Again, why couldn't he just be fucking _**normal**_?

 

“Let's take a break...” huffed Derek around six o'clock, face falling into the latest book that did them no good, moments away from staring off into nothing and collecting pools of drool.

 

Stiles groaned, falling back into the kitchen chair that had become his second home at this point. “We took a break at noon. We can keep going.”

 

The alpha rumbled, squinting with some semblance of weak hatred. “Stiles...if we don't take another break, I will take every book on this table and throw it into the fireplace to burn.”

 

“You mean the fireplace that is more fortified than Fort Knox?”

 

Derek let out a low, threatening growl. Eyes bleeding red. “Every. Single. Fucking. Book.”

 

“Hey man, this was _your_ idea to take this on. You could've had Lydia do it. She has had experience. Made the bed – lie in it.”

 

“I miss my bed...”

 

“Oh my god, I would never imagine you being so _dramatic_. What happened to the sourwolf that snarled and threatened to rip my throat out with his teeth?”

 

“Died when Kira convinced him to rebuild the House. And buy every last damn game system in creation.”

 

“Ah. Guess Kira does have that effect on people. Hard to say no to.” Stiles stood, bones cracking under the weight of movement, and heaved a sigh. “Fine, drama wolf. We'll take a break. Though I think you only want to take a break because you want to keep cooking for me. With all this providing, I might as well move in here and stay.”

 

Derek raised his brows, not the least bit amused. “For that... _you_ get to make dinner.”

 

“Wh-what?!”

 

“Be the provider, Stilinski. Before we wilt away.”

 

“Christ...you have got to stop hanging out with me. I'm a bad influence. No wonder that asshole thought we were mates.”

 

Stiles was halfway to the fridge, mind jumping from place to place, wondering what he could possibly make for dinner, when he realized what he just said. He froze, eyes ready to fly from his skull. Shit...he had been keeping this to himself. Tight to the chest and never letting go. Not even when his dad attempted to pry it out via text earlier. He didn't want anyone, especially Derek, to know why he was targeted. Because despite all the improvements and growth that had occurred over the past few years, Derek was still a masochist. Still easily fell into that pit of guilt.

 

And he just fucking opened his big mouth...

 

He rounded back quickly, words already sitting on the tip of his tongue to diffuse the situation. But one good look at Derek's expression stopped him cold. Instead of the guilt that was so commonplace on that inhumanly beautiful face...there was _rage_. Pure, unfiltered, horrifying _ **rage**_. Derek's fists were curled up on the table, tiny drops of blood sneaking out between the cracks. Claws...he had his claws out. And his eyes were glowing brighter than they had in a long, long time. Almost looked like he was...fighting a full body shift. Though, he was failing since his ears were tip-toeing the line of human and pointed.

 

Stiles swallowed, worrying nervously at his bottom lip. “Uh, you okay there, big guy?”

 

Hearing his voice must've snapped the wolf out of whatever trance he was in. Derek sat upright, staring at Stiles like he forgot where he was for a second. He blinked a few times before his eyes went back to that confusing hazel color. The ears were still on the border and there was still some red dripping, but it was something. He cleared his throat and shrugged, now unable to look at Stiles. Ashamed. Embarrassed, even.

 

“So that was his reason?” he gruffed out, nose wrinkled. “Because he thought we were mates?”

 

Oh boy. This needed to be a tread with care case. Any wrong words would probably send Derek into a frenzy of marching to his probable death just to take out Triple W.

 

Too bad that wasn't Stiles' area of expertise.

 

“Well...we do hang out a lot. Lot more than we used to. I could...guess see why he would think that?”

 

A snarl. Low. Bone chilling. _Possessive_. “He was going to use you as bait to get to _me_.”

 

“Uh...yeah. Think that was his general plan. He did mention that he had tried to get your mom to like him, but that didn't work. Said some mildly not nice things about Miles and Mama Rayen. Mentioned that he tried to get Laura, which...ew. Real ew. Then he kind of whined about you rejecting him...”

 

“For damn good reason! He is...he is...”

 

“Winner of the Creeptacularist Creep of the Year Award?”

 

“Yes. _That_.” Derek let out a sigh, brows knitted together in aggravation. “Maybe we shouldn't take a break. We need to figure out what you are before he tries to manipulate you like Peter did Lydia.”

 

“You think he could do that?”

 

“I don't know. Lydia is the only case I know of it happening.”

 

“It could've been a fluke. I mean, she's a banshee. She predicts death and the dead can poke at her. Maybe that's the only reason why Peter was able to do what he did?”

 

“What makes you think that you aren't something akin to a banshee? Like a barghest?”

 

“I thought we ruled out barghest?”

 

“We ruled out a _hellhound_. Not any of the others.”

 

Now it was Stiles' turn to heave a sigh. “Okay...okay. We'll check the others out. _After_ dinner. Since you were so insistent before I opened my mouth. Which, FYI, you are not going to be a masochist this time. You're not allowed to hunt the prick down and take him on your own. Got it?”

 

The wolf snorted, rolling his eyes. “Wasn't going to. This is more important than him.”

 

“Awwww! You're such a good mate!”

 

Despite having a book chucked at the leg, nearly taking him down, seeing those slowly rounding out ears as red as a firetruck was well worth it.

 

**~+~**

 

It was well after midnight. The books were strewn across the kitchen, discarded with frustration. Items used to assist in testing one's supernatural status were also scattered about, _also_ tossed aside with frustration. At this point, it was hopeless. There was no way they were going to discover what Stiles was. Because why would they? This was _Stiles_ they were talking about! (Yes, it was still day one, but they were impatient and time was not their friend, all right!)

 

“I'm going to bake...” grumbled Derek, peeling himself off the floor and away from the destroyed circle of salt.

 

Stiles let out a huff of air, sending some sort of magical cards away from his face from where it was implanted on the table. “Y'know...I would have never pegged you as someone that cooked or baked when frustrated. You were always the fists into a punching bag and throwing people around type of guy.”

 

“That was because I didn't have a functional kitchen until about four months ago.”

 

“And whose fault is that?”

 

“Hope you like peanut butter brownies. 'Cuz that's what I'm making.”

 

Avoiding the subject. Classic Derek. Some habits were heard to kick.

 

“S'fine.”

 

Stiles' body creaked as he severed the connection his face had with the wood, groaning a little. He shoved aside the book currently before him, disgruntled with it and its predecessors. As he pushed it away, his eyes fell onto yet another book. Honestly, he would rather just pry himself off the chair and offer to help Derek bake, since he had shown his cooking prowess earlier. Might as well show off his baking skills, too.

 

But this book...this book caught his eye.

 

It was ancient. More ancient than the others. It didn't have the same leathery look the others had, but he couldn't place what the look it actually had was. There was gold trimming and gold lettering, dotted with specks of turquoise and another color he couldn't name. It read 'Egypt's Supernaturals'.

 

He raised his brow, reaching for the book and tugging it closer. Egypt? Why would Deaton give them a book about Egyptian supernaturals when everything else had been strictly more plausible like Slavic or Scottish? He dared to open it, the paper beneath his fingers feeling rough and about to turn to dust. The first page was an introduction into the history of Egypt. Explained the gods and how they were possibly supernatural beings that were mistaken for being, well, gods. Shapeshifters, probably. The description left a sour taste in Stiles' mouth for some reason. Sure, he may not believe in ancient deities that people of that time (and some in this time) worshiped, but he didn't enjoy seeing the beliefs being invalidated.

 

“What's that?”

 

Stiles jerked sharply, spooked by Derek's voice. Again. “Jesus, man! Quit suddenly talking when it's quiet! You're gonna give me a heart attack!”

 

“O-kaaay?”

 

“And to answer your question, I'm looking at a book talking about supernatural beings in Egypt. More out of curiosity than thinking I'm one of them.”

 

“You could be one of them.”

 

Wait...what?

 

“Mind repeating that?”

 

“Not all supernatural creatures are rooted strictly in where their mythology lies. Not to say that some aren't. But there are creatures from other countries that people that are not from there can wind up being. It isn't often, to be honest. Rare, really. For example, jackals. They originate from Egypt. They are a hereditary group and are most strong in Egypt. But there are cases of random people, having no ties to Egypt or even the supernatural in their bloodline, that end up being jackals. Yes, they are a water downed version of them and not nearly as powerful, but they do exist. Again, it's rare. Like...only certain people are chosen by Anubis himself to have the honor of being a jackal outside of his birthplace.”

 

“For real?”

 

“Mmm. There are also some cases of kitsunes existing outside of Japan that are not Japanese, but those are harder to come across. Usually, there has to be Japanese somewhere in your bloodline.”

 

“Wow. Mind blown.”

 

“But, like I said, things like that are rare. Most of the time, the laws of the supernatural _are_ confined to their point of origin. Like creatures from indigenous groups. They are tied strictly to their people. Unless it is the wendigo. That being is...a terrifying beast. It can easily attach to others, so long as they have partaken in the act of cannibalism. Special hunters from the Algonquian-speaking people have to usually take care of a wendigo, if possible. Good thing there hasn't been a wendigo incident in ten years.

 

Now, out of every supernatural group out there, only two have no rules. Those would be werewolves and vampires. At least the most common of vampires. The strigoi is an entirely different topic. But werewolves and vampires have no rules. They can be anyone, anywhere. Mostly due to turning others. Though while werewolves can be hereditary or bitten, vampires are more complicated. Bitten is easier than being born one. If you are born a vampire and you were unaware of it, like how Lydia was unaware of being a banshee...you would be driven to the brink of insanity. Probably why most vampires distance themselves.”

 

Derek paused his mixing, staring into the bowl of brownie goop. As if he had noticed his rambling and he thought he had done too much of it. If that was what he was thinking, how dare he. It was hard to get Derek to talk _this_ much about something. It was cute. Stiles _adored_ it. (But no telling the wolfman. That would be a bad idea.)

 

Stiles leaned the chair back on the back legs, smirking at the man's tensed back. “Maybe _you_ should be the archive keeper, not Allison and Lydia. You're like a walking bestiary, but with more knowledge.”

 

Those ears went pink. Very, very pink. “M-my mother kept hundred of books on every supernatural being she could get her hands on. She said it was for dad...but I think it was for her. It was one of the things we used to do together, dad and I, before he died. Peter tried to keep up the tradition, but it wasn't the same.”

 

_And then it was all burnt away_ sat in the air. Stiles licked his lips, setting the chair back down and quickly dove into the book. It was still too hard to listen to Derek talk about his family sometimes. Was harder for Derek to do the talking, too, he suspected. At this moment, it was likely better to not press and to go about doing their own activities.

 

Surprisingly, Derek wasn't done talking.

 

“You might not be able to discover what you are until you're under great stress...” he mused sourly. “Like with Lydia nearly becoming a sacrifice.”

 

Stiles groaned. “Please don't say that! With my luck, that's what's going to happen. Some whack job is gonna try to do sacrifices all over again, and I'll somehow wind up being one of them.”

 

“At least it won't be the virgin grouping this time.”

 

It took extra work, but it was gratifying swiping up a different book and hucking it across the room. Landed square in the middle of Derek's back. Barely moved him, but it riled up a dog-like yelp. New teasing material. Good stuff.

 

The older male whipped around, the wooden spoon in his hold pointed in some scolding manner. Was probably going to give Stiles shit for throwing a book. Would be intimidating...if it weren't for the gleam of mischievousness in his stare. And the dripping brownie batter. And the slight curve of the lips, fighting back the urge to laugh. And -

 

A howl ripped through the atmosphere.

 

They froze, eyes wide and breaths held. Who...who howled? It didn't sound like any of their wolves. Didn't sound like Satomi or her wolves. Certainly wasn't Peter. He was securely locked up in Eichen. Then who...?

 

The howl came again, causing Derek to flinch under its sound. Stiles stiffened, gaping in horror. No...it wasn't...it couldn't be. How? He sounded so close...how...how did he bypass every single line of defense they had up!? On the third howl, Stiles felt his body shake. Felt a minute pull. Wasn't as strong as how Scott described what happened when Peter called for him...but it was still a pull. Still an unconscious need to follow, to obey.

 

Bile rose and the struggle to keep it down was rough.

 

He felt a firm hand squeeze at his shoulder, grounding him. When he glanced up, he saw Derek with a frightening expression. He knew what it was. He did not like it. But a finger was pressed to his lips when he parted them to argue. The alpha shook his head, reaching over and grabbing Stiles' cell. Placing it in his hands, Derek mouthed the command to notify the others. Before Stiles could ask what to exactly notify them of, they could probably fucking hear that damn howl, a voice rumbled through his veins.

 

“Deeereeeek...oh Derek...you have something that is **_mine_**. Please return it. You have no claim on it any longer. Give me my beta nooooow.”

 

No...no no no no no! Shit! He wasn't just _close_. That bastard was _right the fuck outside_!

 

“I know it is hard to lose your plaything, child. But that's what you get when you don't watch it. I guess you never learned.”

 

Stiles gripped at the hand at his shoulder, trembling at a fever pitch. How could he hear this guy? Was it because he woke him up? Or...what...why? Derek squeezed his shoulder harder, the menacing growl tearing through the throat unmistakable. It was possessive. Afraid. Tad bit reassuring. Stiles looked up at him, not the least bit shocked to see the shifted features and glow of red. What was shocking was the hint of fear that rested there.

 

“Derek...” was all he could get out before a fourth howl rung through his ears.

 

It was frustrated – furious. Confused as to why Stiles hadn't come to him yet. If he was a wolf...he might have. But he wasn't. Fuck...he didn't know _what_ he was! And he couldn't be helpful right now. His body was still banged up, despite being confined to a hospital bed for a week. And the stitches hadn't been taken out yet. Something about the wound being stubborn to heal and being too deep. But to hell if he was going to let Derek go out there, like the damn martyr he was, and let him fight the creeper by himself!

 

“Derek...no...” he hissed lowly, shaking his head rapidly. “Don't go out there. And don't tell me you weren't thinking it! Old habits die hard. And yours are the _worse_ to kick.”

 

It earned him a glare, but it was worth it. Triple W had messed him up pretty bad. He couldn't imagine what he would do to Derek, someone who had rejected his object of severely misguided and fucked sense of affection, and who he thought was mated or something to Stiles of all people, if he got his hands on him. He didn't want to think about it.

 

“There are wards around the House, yeah? We should be fine.”

 

Derek's nose wrinkled. Well, as much as it could while shifted. “There were wards around the perimeter, too.”

 

Right. Shit. Hopefully this guy didn't bother breaking the door down and come for him. Would cause too much attention. Derek was a staple in the community, now. If there were news of someone kicking the door down to his home, the reporters would be all over it like flies on a corpse. Bad attention. Alpha Walters didn't want bad attention.

 

But he wasn't above keeping them hostages. In Derek's own home.

 

Finally deciding to listen, Stiles typed out a group message, fingers shaking. Had to retype it out several times. In the end, he gave up and just sent it out before stuffing it in his pocket. Everyone would know what he meant. Hell, they might already be on the way, if luck was on their side. But when was that ever true for them...

 

The fifth howl rumbled the floors. Stiles felt it vibrate through his feet and all the way to his chest. He tensed, hunching over and whining. The pull was starting to grow. Was this how Lydia felt? She had said there was a strange pull that Peter had on her for a while, when she was still highly vulnerable and asleep. Was this what was happening? Maybe he was a werewolf. Just still dormant. Bullheaded when it came to waking up.

 

“GIVE ME MY BETA, HALE!” roared the other alpha, his fury threatening to tear the walls down.

 

Derek's (metaphorical) feathers bristled. He snarled wildly and curled an arm behind him, partially wrapping it around Stiles. Possessive. Again. It was things like this that made their enemy believe they were together. But Stiles was ever thankful for it. He was the fragile human – usually only equipped with a bat. This time, his position as fragile hadn't changed, but he _was_ weaponless.

 

Unconsciously, (or not, probably not) he leaned in closer to Derek, not in the mood to gripe about feeling like a damsel in distress at the moment.

 

Because apparently the defiant snarl did not sit well with Winston William Walters III.

 

The front door was kicked right off the hinges – splinters flying all over the place. Stiles yelped, instinctively diving under the table for cover. Derek jerked from the violence of his door's murder. He gawked in disbelief for one second, then turned into Mr. Big Bad and made sure his body block any access to under the table. Stiles could hear more than he could see the hulking frame making its way to them.

 

When he saw the feet, he could feel his stomach churn. Reminiscent of Peter's form, only strictly bipedal. There was something else, too. A dark cloud moving like tendrils peeking out of the matted fur. Strange...was it like that for all wolves? No...no no. Derek's more animal form didn't have that. Maybe it was because Derek could actually become a wolf and not a mockery of one? Whatever the case...there was something foreboding about that cloud...

 

“Alpha Walters.” greeted Derek darkly. “Nice look.”

 

A guttural growl was the reply. Scratching sounds followed. If he was clawing at the frame into the kitchen...Erica was going to gut this dude before Derek or his dad had a chance. She had picked out the design herself. It was her claim on the House.

 

“One of my betas won't like you ruining that part of the House. She badgered me into it.”

 

Another low, guttural growl. Utterly inhuman. “You...too soft...”

 

“My pack are my friends...my _family_. Not my underlings to toss when they're no longer useful to me.”

 

A huff. The tendrils curled firmly around the fury legs...pulsing. “Your family...burned. You...have... _no_ family.”

 

“He has more than you, fuck face!”

 

Instant regret. So much instant regret. Stiles clapped a hand to his mouth, internally scolding it for opening. And when the table above him flew, snapping like a twig upon hitting the wall, his mouth opened again to let out a muffled scream.

 

The hulking being before him had tossed Derek aside like a doll. It loomed over him with strings of saliva falling from the overbite. The inky cloud engulfed all of it, more whispy and free moving on the upper half than the bits around the legs. Not only that, but there were words shimmering in gold around his heart. In a complete circle. Connecting to each other. Listing off...sins.

 

 

_**Murderer** _

 

_**Assaulter** _

 

_**Stalker** _

 

_**Cheater** _

 

_**Kidnapper** _

 

_**Envious** _

 

_**Gluttonous** _

 

_**Lustful** _

 

_**Liar** _

 

_**Guilty. Guilty. GUITLY.** _

 

 

A swoop hit him in the stomach. This wasn't normal. This couldn't be _normal_! There was _no way_ Stiles was seeing this! No way! No way...

 

The bastard huffed out a laugh, somehow conveying smugness through the morphed face. “Your...eyes...yes...they glow...again. My beta...”

 

No. No! _Not_ his beta! He shook his head, scowling the best he could as he tried to piece together what the hell he was seeing. Doing this seemed to make Triple W laugh again. He reached down, clawed, monstrous hands going for Stiles' arm. In a panic, Stiles reached for a chair, ready to fight back with the flimsy weapon. Fortunately, Derek had recovered from the effects of being thrown, and lunged onto the alpha. He latched on, roaring and snarling viciously.

 

“Stiles, run!”

 

He didn't have to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet, shrieking as he darted past the two alphas hashing it out. Once making it to the living room, he heard a crash and quickly mourned the nice window that most likely Derek had been chucked through. He booked it to the front door, hoping to meet with arriving packmates, or maybe a vehicle he could use to run Walters III's ass over. Derek would eventually forgive him from destroying the camaro.

 

Sadly, when he made his way onto the front porch, he ran into the packmates World Wide Web had mentioned.

 

There had to be at least twenty of them. All covered with the same thick, malicious cloud their alpha wore. Around their hearts also listed sins in a fine circle, shimmering in gold. They were almost identical to what their alpha had. Some were different. Some were a tad worse. It didn't make sense. _None_ of it made sense! But he had no time to worry about that. Because the puppy brigade was creeping towards him with glistening blue stares.

 

Stiles once thought blue was pretty, despite what it meant. Now...now he might be just a wee bit spooked by it.

 

He rounded back, hoping he could make his escape elsewhere. Instead, he ran right into the chest of his favorite person. He tried to backpedal, but found his throat taken prisoner, and feet hoisted off solid ground.

 

“Such...disobedience...” cooed the maniac gruffly. “You...are in _my_...pack now. I...tolerate...no disobedience, boy. I'll have...to teach you...a lesson.”

 

A clawed hand roughly skimmed down the side of his body. The side with the stitches. Under the power of those claws...they popped right out. Stiles could feel blood start to trickle down his hip. Panic...he was panicking. It was like being kidnapped all over again. Bleed out...he was going to bleed out. Or...or something worse. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, praying to whatever higher power existed to save his ass. Hopefully in the form of the pack.

 

The pack...

 

Where the hell were they?!

 

A familiar howl filled the air. Stiles eyes snapped open, daring to look above him. There, flinging off the roof like some avenging angel, was Derek in his wolfy glory. The massive wolf landed on the massive mockery, digging canines into the back of the neck. Triple W yowled, instantly dropping Stiles and frantically fought to get the wolf off of him. His betas rushed to his side in a frenzy – forgetting all about Stiles.

 

He laid there on the porch, sputtering and coughing. One hand on his throat, rubbing the bruise he could feel forming – the other tightly pressed against his reopened wound. He laid there...watching as Derek hung on for dear life to Triple W's neck. Derek was no doubt in trouble. There was absolutely, one hundred percent no way he could keep latched on with so many people yanking and swiping at him. With each new attempt there was a tiny whine that escaped. At this rate...Derek was going to die, along with Stiles, and there was nothing they could do.

 

Where. Was. The. Fucking. Pack?!

 

Stiles gritted his teeth tight, something akin to a growl rolling through. No...he was not going to die. He survived this asshole once – he was going to survive _again_! With every ounce of strength he could muster, he dragged himself against the porch, inching towards the chaos before him. Somehow, Derek was still clinging on to dear life. Despite twenty-one people going at him. Stiles had no clue what he could do to help, but he was going to do... _something_!

 

And that something ended up being grabbing the ankle of one of the offending pack members.

 

The guy screeched, ungracefully losing balance and landed with a nice, loud thud. He gaped at Stiles in disbelief. Like he couldn't imagine Stiles having been able to do jack shit. A snarl curled upon the lip for a split second. Then...it was replaced with confusion and...fear?

 

“What...what the hell are you? Those-those aren't wolf eyes!”

 

Pfft...well yeah. That was because Stiles wasn't a wolf.

 

Wait...what?

 

What kind of eyes _did_ he have?!

 

Stiles forced back any unease he felt by the statement, doing nothing but gripping tighter to the ankle of his captive. The rival packmate snarled, kicking at Stiles' face. The shoe connected to his nose. Maybe broke it, if the sudden feel of gushing blood was anything to judge by. And yet Stiles kept his hold. If anything, the kicking got Stiles closer – right into the dude's lap. With his other hand, he reached out, going for the eyes. This was a no rules fight! Those eyes were gonna go!

 

“Gah! Get the fuck off of me, you freak! Let go!”

 

The beta held onto Stiles' wrist, trying desperately to push it away. With strength that he had no clue where it was coming from, Stiles shoved his hand stubbornly forward, nearly at his goal. But just as his fingers brushed against those offending eyes...

 

**SNAP**

 

There was a pause. Took time for the brain and the pain to connect. Took time for the sight to connect to the brain. His wrist...the fucker...he _broke his wrist_!

 

Stiles jaw burst open, a scream tearing through.

 

If...if one would call the sound that came out a scream.

 

The world seemed to slow. Sound muffled and everything too bright. Then...it all seemed to fade. He squeezed his eyes shut, shivering at the chill that washed over him along with the ever brightening landscape. For a moment, he thought he was going into some kind of fever dream. But if that were the case, why in the hell did he take the jerk with him? Who was too loud and freaking the hell out. Curious, he cracked his lids open. Just to peep. And, wow. This was not after midnight on Derek's porch. He opened his eyes fully, taking in his surroundings with a more silent freaking out approach than his buddy pal a surprising few feet away.

 

The best way to describe wherever the hell they had teleported to was a wisp of nothing. It was bright, but muted. Everything looked like a landscape of fog, thick and thin all at once. No solid ground beneath them...at least not one visible. The air was ominous, yet familiar and comforting. There was something ancient about it. Not young like the Nemeton. No...this was much older. More _powerful_.

 

As the rival werewolf was screaming out for his pack, losing his freakin' mind, Stiles heard footsteps. They sounded wet, as if they were walking on water. He craned his head, seeking those feet. He wasn't sure if his unwilling partner in this realm saw her...but he certainly did.

 

She was hauntingly beautiful. Her face held stern, regal, wise, and was dotted with freckles darker than her umber completion, making her seem more human than she felt. Her eyes were a pure, molten gold – giving off the same ancient vibe this place had. Her hair was like the late twighlight, tied up in a side ponytail that didn't match the rest of her. Her dress didn't match, either. A pale blue that was willowy, but casual and modern. Still...she was haunting and ancient. _Powerful_. Her presence commanding attention, respect. Which Stiles willingly gave.

 

She crouched before him, setting her elbow on her knee and propping her chin in her palm. Her dark brows rose, studying him like he was some text in an unknown language. She clicked her tongue, tapping her cheek with a blunt nail.

 

“Huh. Been a long time since we have had a Chosen one so far from home.” she hummed thoughtfully, her voice melodic and slightly clipped. Like she was speaking a language she usually didn't. “Believe it has been...oh...a hundred years?”

 

Stiles couldn't help himself. Curious as always. “Hundred years since what? What's a 'Chosen'?”

 

Her entire face furrowed, obviously confused by the question. “You mean you do not know? Hmmm...you must've woken up late. No matter. Not all of you has been dormant, if that is the case. You have keen intuition, yes? Can immediately tell if someone has sinister intentions? Or has a, as you might say, bad vibe?”

 

Mechanically, he nodded. Caused her to grin slyly.

 

“Experienced any random bursts of strength? Canine, or wolfish, some would be so insistent to say, tendencies like lip snarls and little growls?”

 

Another mechanical nod.

 

“Hmmm...fascinating. Now, tell me, little one...can you see the darkness surrounding your friend?”

 

He frowned, doing that 'lip snarl' she had mentioned. “He's _**not**_ my friend.”

 

“Clearly. One does not bring their friends here. But that doesn't answer my question. Can you see the darkness around him? Yes? Or no?”

 

His frown deepened. “Yeah. I see it. What the hell is that? And the circle or whatever around his heart? The one that's listing I guess all the bad shit he has done?”

 

Her brows hiked up. For a moment, she appeared stunned. Pleasantly so. Then, her lips curled in a soft grin, and she let out an equally soft chuckle. “I see. You're in for a crash course, it seems. It'll take some time, but I hope you'll be a fast learner. You won't always see me here. Sometimes you'll get one of the more impatient ones. Lucky for you, I am the first one you're meeting. I am remarkably patient and helpful.”

 

“Others? There are others?”

 

“Why wouldn't there be? There are only a few families left blessed with this gift. And, every so often, an outsider becomes blessed with this gift as well. However, yours is more diluted. Not so pure. Can't have the power go to your head, now can we?” She clicked her tongue again, dragging her free hand through his hair. “You won't be able to call Ammit freely like us. However, you can freely bring those weighed and deemed guilty here. One of us will dispose of them for you. Of course, you can dispose of them in whatever other fashion you like, and Ammit will have her way with them afterward. In the end, she always is fed those who are unworthy of existing.”

 

“A...Ammit? That...demon from ancient Egyptian myth?”

 

She shrugged, pulling herself to her feet. “Believe me, little one, she is no myth. She has served beside my family, and the few other families like mine, for thousands of years. Sometimes, she serves those unlike us. But she mostly keeps close to us. Depends, I suppose. You cannot control something that has existed for a long, long time.” Sighing, she glanced forward, likely at the still flipping out wolf who seemed to not notice her or the conversation at all. “Anyway...his screaming is getting annoying. I would show you how those weighed unworthy are punished...but I think you would rather leave this world between worlds. Get back to yours and play around with your new powers, yes?”

 

“Um...I...”

 

“Don't know how to use them? Obviously. Why else would you come here unconsciously? It happens to all of us. Even _I_ did it before my family decided to reveal the truth.” She leaned over, tapping his nose. “Trust your instincts. They know what to do.”

 

Something coiled in his chest. Something similar to releasing a breath that had been held for too long. Without meaning to, he squeezed his eyes shut, body stiffening.

 

It took him a moment to realize that the world around him had changed. It was the explosion of sounds that got to him. His body jerked upright – breath escaping loud and ragged. He clawed at the porch frantically, trying regain his bearings. Took him a minute more to notice that he was on his knees. That he was in no pain. If he took a look right now, he wouldn't be surprised if Walters III's claw marks had vanished. His nose and wrist were obviously in better condition than they had been prior.

 

Stiles swallowed, body heaving as he refocused his surroundings. Night...it was night. The woods. Trees. No ethereal plain. No strange woman. Just good ol' Beacon Hills. And good ol' Beacon Hills supernatural shenanigans.

 

And Derek. Shit. _Derek_!

 

His head snapped up, searching for his alpha. Fortunately, the wolf was still attached to the monstrosity's back. Still was fighting off the others. Stiles counted them, expecting to see twenty betas circling the two alphas. But no. There were nineteen. Beta number twenty was lying right beside him...sheet white, wide eyed. The dark cloud had dissipated.

 

Dead. He was dead. _Devoured_.

 

_Good_.

 

He _**deserved**_ it.

 

The thought made Stiles shudder. Whether it was because it disturbed him or because it made him feel euphoric wasn't important. He could help Derek. He could do _something_! He zeroed in on a beta trying to claw out Derek's back. Something similar to a snarl escaped, and he bulldozed the jerk to the ground, right off the porch. The beta yipped in shock, almost losing their shift in the process. Once they realized who knocked them down, they hopped to their feet, going for Stiles' throat.

 

“Why won't you obey your alpha?!” the beta hissed, claws inches from Stiles flesh.

 

Stiles flared his nostrils, catching the beta's wrists before they connected. There was a small struggle for power, which Stiles ended up winning in the end. They toppled over, the beta hissing in pain when they hit the ground again. They tried to fling Stiles off, even tried to kick at his back. But he was in a good position – untouchable. And that sudden strength of his was in full swing. He shook as he pressed the beta's wrists to their chest, lips curled and eyes burning. The beta gawked and moved their mouth like a guppy gasping for water. They didn't even notice the mummified hands poised to steal them away to that ethereal plane. The mystery woman must still be lingering there, giving Stiles a handicap of sorts.

 

Whenever he saw her next...he would need to give her a plate of goodies as a thank you.

 

“You...you aren't a werewolf...” the beta finally choked out.

 

Stiles grinned wickedly, feeling a sharpness brush by. “Nope. I'm not.”

 

And as if that was the cue, the hands dug into the beta, causing them to shriek in terror. Then, just like that, they were swallowed up. Anyone watching would probably think that they had vanished into the ground – Nightmare on Elm Street style. Stiles was pretty certain that only he could see the truth.

 

Judging by the shouts of surprise and swarms of various curses, he was correct.

 

Stiles shrugged, dusting himself off as he stood. He stared right at the monstrosity of an alpha (right after he made sure Derek was okay, which, thank gods, he was), and held himself defiantly. “There are a few reasons why I'm not listening to you! Sure, there is a pull, but that's only 'cuz you attacked the hell out of me. But it's not the pull you want. Anyway...” He held up a finger, feeling a fire burn in his chest. “Reason one – I can't exactly fall to my knees for someone who isn't my alpha. My alpha is the cute furball still clinging to your back. Reason two – I'm not a wolf. Sorry. Don't make the rules when it comes to waking up dormant supernaturals.”

 

Triple W growled menacingly, stomping over. Derek continued to cling on tight, scratching at the hulking mass in an attempt to create a distraction. It was sweet and all, but it really didn't help with the whole 'this guy thinks we're mates' thing probably. Not to mention that Stiles could take care of himself.

 

Hopefully.

 

The monster alpha loomed over him, saliva trailing out from the massive overbite. The stench was horrific. How did Stiles miss that before? A clawed hand hung tentatively around Stiles' neck, waiting for a reason to crush it. It would scare a normal person. But Stiles was never really normal...was he?

 

“Not...a wolf?” sneered Winston William Walters III. “ _Liar_.”

 

Stiles glared in defiance, the fire in his chest growing. “Then explain why I'm not with your betas, trying to hurt my alpha. I know the difference between a werewolf feeling a pull to their alpha and a non-werewolf feeling a pull to the alpha that woke them up. I'm not a werewolf. I'm not your beta.”

 

The fire exploded. A thing he could not see plucked Derek gingerly off of the enemy, setting him beside Stiles. Where he belonged. Once Derek was safe, the invisible entity started tearing at Walters III's heart. The creep swiped at the air, a look of terror _finally_ showing itself. He howled and dropped to his knees, the entity really going for that heart.

 

Compelled to speak, Stiles recited words he never would have thought of. In a voice deeper that when he had been possessed. _Ancient_ , almost.

 

“You have been judged. The heart has been weighed. It's _**heavier**_ than the feather.”

 

With one last howl of agony, there was a faint popping sound coming from the chest...and Winston William Walters III fell face front. The dark cloud evaporated. Gone. He was gone. All that was left was his pack now. But when Stiles had glanced up where they had been, he learned that they had scattered. Made themselves scarce likely when their alpha was fighting something they could not see. A breath of relief escaped Stiles, body finally relaxing. Sure, he couldn't get to the others, but he was certain their just desserts would arrive eventually. For now, he could just...soak in the victory and feel safe. 

 

“Jackal...”

 

He hummed, following the voice. Apparently, Derek decided to go back to his bipedal form. And was very much _naked_.

 

“Oh god! Clothes, dude! _Clothes_!”

 

Derek ignored him. Just inched closer with wide eyes consumed in excited awe. “You're a _jackal_. Holy shit...”

 

“Holy shit is right! You are standing out here in the cold, waving your junk around!”

 

“There hasn't been a jackal outside of Egypt in...in...”

 

“A hundred years. Yeah, I know. I talked to someone already about that. Don't ask. I have no clue how to explain it. But I do know that you need some _clothes_!”

 

Derek snorted, waving him off. “You were chosen to be a supernatural being that some would argue as being sacred...and you're bitching about clothes.” He sighed, sounding more fond that annoyed. “Good to know that you're still the same.”

 

“Good to see that has been established. Now would you _please_ go put something on! Just because this isn't my first rodeo when it comes to your uncanny comfortableness with nakedness doesn't mean the rest of the pack, whenever they arrive, will be! Especially, oh, I don't know, my _dad_!”

 

That's what eventually got to the wolf. He hurried off back to the House, grumbling a string of things Stiles couldn't catch. Stiles let out a huff, rolling his eyes. Guess it was nice that this type of interaction could still happen. Even if they had just been battling against a demented alpha and his betas, and Stiles had suddenly become bad ass.

 

Making his way back to the House himself, Stiles dug into his pocket, going for his cell to send a scolding text to the others. When he went to type out that text, he found that his phone had blown up. There were hundreds of messages from the others, demanding to know if Derek and him were okay, that they had ran into some trouble getting to the preserve. Phone calls, too. It was then that he also learned that he hadn't sent out the text for help. In his fearful state...he had forgotten to push _send_. Even though he was pretty positive that he had.

 

“Oooookaaaaaay...this is going to be a very, _very_ fun pack meeting. Lots of ass chewing. Welp...guess I better warn the big guy. Had enough surprises to last a lifetime..."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come check out the event!
> 
> http://sterekweek-2018.tumblr.com/


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